Memento Mori
by the Unrequited Lover
Summary: Even as Miletta says she loves Vladislaus, strange things make her question him. Who is he really? After Dracula's turning, back in the beginning.
1. Secrets Kept

_Disclaimer: Dracula belongs to Stephen Sommers, Bram Stoker, and himself, as well as a lot of other people. I may not own him, but I guess I'll see him….in my dreams. And Miletta belongs to herself, under her real name (SilverFlover, although that isn't her real name)._

"Truthfully, I don't know if I'm in love with you or if I'm in love with you loving me," he whispered laughingly into her ear, then spun her around to face him.

Miletta stroked his neck adoringly with her gloved fingertip softly, smiling at him as they moved across the dance floor. She and Vladislaus hadn't known eachother for such a long time, but…what did time mean to anyone? Time was so dull. Years, days, they did not matter. Miletta loved Vlad. She did not need a calendar to tell her that. "Well, obviously, it's the latter, since you just love yourself," she said, trying very hard to be serious. She had considered retorting, 'I'm very sorry to tell you, then, that I don't love you!', but the incorrigible and yet exotic aristocrat would have only made a little _moue_ and probably have tickled her, too. She decided, instead, to be kind and answer him. "But if you must know…you love me."

"Don't be so sure, Mili," he teased as he dipped her. "How could I be in love with you?"

Miletta's eyebrow shot up in mock indignation and she hit him playfully. How he had wormed his way into her affections, and so suddenly, after only a few months! Miletta did not believe in miracles, especially in romance, but somehow one exotic count had turned her expectations upside down. "Well, how could you _not_ be?" she said, eyes flashing mischievously. "You do. You do! I insist!"

He relented good-humouredly, stroking her dark hair, wrapped up in coils around her head, held in place by jeweled gold pins. "If you insist, then I suppose I have no choice. How unkind my lady is! She is ruthless. How she slays my ego!" She was rolling her eyes, trying to bite back a smile and failing, as they moved in gracious circles across the dance floor. Vladislaus caught the smile and smirked, and exasperated, Miletta shook her head, her delicate earrings sliding across the starched ruffle at her neck as she did so.

"I warn you, Vladislaus," she said, lifting her chin defiantly, trying to seem as haughty as she could—a countess to combat his count. "You go too far." The smirk fell off his face like a mask dropping to the floor and the expression of dismay, even though she knew it was obviously put on just to get her to concede, made her own act wilt. She dropped her head to hide the laughter on her face.

"You…you!" She cried, her forehead leaning up against his shirt front. She heard him reply in perfectly nonchalant tones, "You now owe me one for causing me such emotional distress."

"Oh, you're quite delicate, you know." The sound of his perfectly adolescent _humph_ in retort made her lift her head with a triumphant look, a smile at the corners of her lips. "I'll tell you one of my famous stories, and we'll be even."

"Oh, all right." He thought for a moment, encircling her waist with his arm and drawing her nearer to him as he thought, dancing with effortless grace even as his mind was elsewhere. She felt the movement of his body in fascination at the smooth human machinery. "How did we meet, again?" He said finally, more a statement than a question.

"You already know that story." As though he needed reminding! But there seemed to be nothing more enjoyable than remaining with him, doting upon him. Miletta looked back on her life, and it seemed completely unbelievable that she'd end up like this. She had always despised people with egos such as his within thirty seconds of meeting them.

"Tell it to me again, I'm bored," he said, pretending to yawn elegantly. She laughed and hit him again, however lightly. "Oh, you are such a shameless flirt! All right, I'll tell you the story…"

He spun her in a circle, then prompted, "Once upon a time…"

"There was a beautiful girl," she went on and he laughed. "Well, she was!" Miletta maintained, feeling slightly depressed for a second, worrying she was being too bold by saying she was beautiful. She had never felt that she was, even though Vlad always watched her absently, then told her he thought she was. "She was beautiful, and she was in her garden one night, humming a song, and she was supposed to go inside, but she didn't, and she heard a voice say, 'What is that lovely song you're singing?' and then she turned around and saw the most handsome man she'd ever looked upon, with long dark hair, and a faintly amused smile on his face! And-"

"This is my turn, I want to tell this part," he drawled.

"Oh, fine, then," Miletta said, rolling her eyes for the second time in so many minutes. How he could get away with this attitude, her tolerating it, delighting in it, even! Perhaps she just liked taking care of people she loved.

"And even though he was handsome, she was shocked to see him in her garden, and so she screamed at him and picked up a shovel, then tried to hit him with it-" His tone of voice had become decidedly pouty, and so Miletta interrupted.

"I did not try to hit you with it, for heaven's sake!" Miletta said, her temper rising a bit. Somehow they managed to argue this one point even after months had passed. "I only wanted to startle you into thinking that I was going to!"

"Well, it worked," he said sullenly, looking off to the side obstinately. Miletta looked at him frowning angrily, then shook her head, and decided to get to the better parts of the story.

"And then he shouted and knocked the shovel from her hands, then put his hands on her shoulders and she-"

"Overreacted," he interrupted, still looking off the side, now with a bitter expression.

"I did not overreact!" Miletta yelped, growing frustrated. "Some man I didn't know was suddenly in my garden- I don't know how he got in through the locked fence- and then grabbed my shoulders- what was I supposed to think!"

He sulked as they seemingly floated across the dance floor, past other couples so preoccupied with the dancing steps that they did not realise the beauty of the harmony that is dancing. Miletta wanted not only to realize it, but to become a part of it. Somehow Vladislaus lived in beauty, and he made even her feel as though she lived in it too…except when things pushed them even farther apart.

"I'm sorry," she said softly, as he silently spun her around, smooth machinery again, but more as a marionette than a living, loving doll. His stonily unchanged expression made her continue with a harsher tone than she'd aimed for. "You're taking it too personally." He still didn't look at her.

"And that comes as any surprise?"

"Vlad…." She pleaded, and wrapped her arms around him, and he smiled almost absently, like a praised child, then finally looked at her.

"Well, since you put it that way," he said, almost devilishly, and gave her a quick kiss. Then, in a mercurial leap from warmth to petulance, he insisted, "Finish the story!"

"You're worse than a child," she rebuked him warmly, feeling their dance regain life as opposed to the living dead feel it had taken before as they'd gone through empty motions, and went on to obey him, although she never would actually obey commands, should he issue them. She had her own dignity to be mindful of.

"Well, when he seized her shoulders, she screamed and kicked him-"

"Which was most assuredly not pleasant," he cut in, in a low growl. "You know, they have to last me a long time, Mili-"

"Vlad!" she shouted, gawking, trying to keep herself from laughing in a manner most unlike a lady. "You can't talk like that in front of a lady!"

"Miletta," he said, trying to explain, with a pained look, "It _hurt."_

"It was supposed to!" Miletta said, finally exploding with laughter, much to his chagrin.

"Miletta," he complained, as though trying to steady her.

"Oh, all right! You are the most complex person I have ever met! Most days you are sophisticated, and intelligent-"

"I'm always intelligent." He tossed his head back, and she absent-mindedly lifted a hand to smooth his hair as she went on, almost like she was listing faults.

"-and others, like today, you are childish and playful!"

"Playful is not a bad thing," he said stubbornly. "What happened after that?"

She sighed, smiling, and shook her head once again as they went through another turn.

"Well, he fell to his knees and she stepped back, unsure of what to do, and he looked up at her and said through clenched teeth, 'Well, that's no way to treat an admirer,' and she was so surprised, and he pulled out a rose from his vest and said, 'I'd been hoping to make this very romantic, but it would seem you have other thoughts.' And she just stared, then said, 'Oh, I'm sorry,' and helped him up, and he brushed himself up, muttering, and she said, 'Do you even know who I am?' And he said, 'Of course I do, Miletta.' And she, growing exasperated with his cryptic manner, said, 'Well, then, what is your name? Can I know that?' So he bowed ridiculously and said, 'Count Vladislaus Dracula' in a funny accent-"

"Romanian!" he said, glowering at her. "Don't make fun of my accent, I've never teased you about yours. Don't say that Hungarian accents sound any better!" She gave a short laugh, then quickly covered her mouth with her hand. He looked at her in dismay, and she lifted her hand from her mouth carefully, holding it up in a sign of peace, before draping it over his shoulder and going on.

"Oh, fine, he said it in a- erm- mysterious Romanian accent, sounding more like a Prince than a Count-"

"Do I really?" Vladislaus asked suddenly, sounding quite pleased. Miletta laughed at this, too, and said, "Yes, of course you do." Mocking his accent, she said, "You are my Prince of night!"

It was his turn to roll his eyes, and he said, "Oh, be that way, then. I'm finishing the story."

She waited patiently for him to begin. "Well, she laughed at him-" and he cast her a glare before going on- "and he asked her if she would meet him at the Opera house on a certain day, and she agreed, then came early by an hour or so and when he showed up, she told him he had been late."

"You told us to meet there at a time, but I thought you'd gotten the time wrong," Miletta said, confused. "You showed up after the opera was over and everyone had left!"

"I did it on purpose," he said, frowning.

"Why!" she asked, bewildered.

"So we could enjoy a moonlit dance on the empty stage, of course," he said, smiling slightly as he swept her gracefully across the dance floor.

She smiled, feeling a little shy. "And then we- I mean, they- danced all night, up until early morning, and then the sun peeked over the horizon-"

"Actually, the sunlight did, but the sun hadn't come up yet."

"Yes, I suppose. I don't know why you could watch the sun rise with me," Miletta said, a little disappointed. It would have been romantic…oh, she wasn't a romantic! Well…perhaps a little. But he was worse. Dancing on a moonlit stage! Going to an art gallery was more like what she'd suggest.

"I had to leave," he said, avoiding the subject and dropping his gaze..

She shook her head at his incorrigible attitude. "Well, after that, we met almost every night, didn't we?" She prompted him into looking at her again. His eyes had a magnetic quality to them, always.

He looked at her fondly. "Yes. Yes, we did."

They danced in comfortable silence for a while, and then the orchestra began to play another, faster song. Vladislaus' eyes flickered over towards them with faint annoyance at the tune, as though it seemed to him a silly thing to play for what he had in mind. Miletta thought it would be fun to dance to it, but before she had even gotten into position he spoke up.

"Miletta, come on- come with me," he begged, taking her by the hands and trying to lead her out.

"Where are you taking me now?" she asked, disappointed and resisting slightly. "This is such a lovely tune, and perfect for dancing!"

"Please, come on- it's just the balcony, it's quiet there, no one will interrupt us," he said. "Please?"

"Oh, fine," she said, yielding and following him as he rushed her out. "But you'd better not do anything I'll regret…or make you regret," she warned in a weary sigh.

He laughed a bit and dragged her gently out, then pulled the heavy curtains shut behind them. She looked at the dark brocade, then spun around and walked over to the railing, looking over the edge. The atmosphere was still and quiet, and the night was warm and beautiful. It seemed to her that it was only lovely in the dark, with the stars twinkling and the streets hauntingly sweet, as though singing to her. She breathed in the air, and then turned back to her paramour. "Isn't it fantastic?" she asked him, smiling up at him warmly, feeling a surge of fondness for him.

He nodded, not looking down to see her, as he walked over to stand beside her. She caught notice of this and touched his face softly. "What's wrong?" she asked carefully, tilting her head slightly.

"Nothing," he said, then pulled her close suddenly, wrapping his arms around her waist. She knew he was lying about 'nothing', and in a moment he proved her right. "Oh, Miletta…I'm leaving soon for Transylvania and you won't be coming back with me."

"Oh…" The happiness died from her face, which she buried in the front of his shirt. "Oh, you can't do that to me."

"I'm so sorry," he whispered, nuzzling her head with his nose in a gesture most uncharacteristically tender for him. "But...there is a way." He thought about it, slowly. He didn't want to lose her…but he knew he had to take her with him, no matter what the price was.

"What?" she asked him quietly, licking her dry lips. For some reason, the night had grown darker, bigger, more likely to swallow her up. She felt like this man she loved was more sinister, more threatening, whispering ominous things to her. But of course he wasn't…'There is a way', though? It sounded as though it would include murder…she shivered, and felt him gently step away from her embrace, and she was forced to look at him.

He knelt before her and took something small from his jacket, something that seemed to glitter as though he held a star.

"Oh!" she exclaimed as he took her hand. It was a surprise, but it had caught her off her guard. She felt very numb suddenly; but not with dulled happiness, as she might expect.

"Marry me, Miletta," he said in a voice barely above a whisper, as though he didn't dare to speak loudly.

"Vladislaus," she said, her voice catching in her throat, sounding lower and husky in her shock. "Is it…?"

"Real? Yes," he replied. "This is for real. My love for you is for real. Please, Miletta." The world around them was still immobile, but Miletta's heart beat quickly, a beat more thrilling than the instruments they had just heard earlier.

"I say…I say yes," she said, in awe as he slipped it onto her finger. It fit perfectly, and she lifted her hand up to her face wonderingly to look at it, before he took it again and brought it to her mouth.

"Oh, thank you," he said, kissing her hand. "I worried- I thought-"

"How could I refuse you?" she said, pulling him upright, then kissing him, the ghost of a smile on her lips as she did so. But when she broke away from the kiss, his face was grim, and she hesitated to speak.

"You would not feel this way if-" And then his voice broke as though he could no longer talk.

"What could be so terrible that my love for you would die?" she asked, her mouth twitching into a smile. This must have been some joke of his, she felt certain.

"There are things about me you don't know," he said solemnly. She frowned in confusion, almost in terror as her heart once again began beating quickly against her will.

"Vladislaus, what-?" she began, before he brought his lips to hers in a hungry kiss. She did not hesitate to kiss him back, burying her thoughts in passion, her hands tangling in his hair. She thought of that charming ponytail of his and how she was mussing it and the thought made her feel somewhat sad, before thinking it could all just go to Hell, for all she cared.

She felt his fingertips against her back, the stays of the corset he didn't dare remove, not then. He moaned slightly as he stroked her hair, removing the pins that held it up as it fell in a curtain around her face, and then kissed her on her lips again, then her shoulders, her throat, and her neck. Miletta was about to give up on thinking and merely enjoy the sensation, trying desperately to ignore the moral conscience in her head pressing urgently on the inside of her temples, when she thought she felt a bit of pain, like something sharp pressing against but not puncturing her skin on her neck

She gasped and with a cry like a wounded animal, Vladislaus tore himself away from her.

"What's wrong?" she asked, alarmed. He was feet away from her, staggered, his fingertips pressing against his mouth, his eyes wild with horror, for whatever reason. He removed the hand and passed it over his forehead, then turned away from her.

"I have to leave you," he called back in a choked voice by way of answering.

"Wait!" she cried, running after him as he went over to the edge of the balcony. "You're not going to jump? You can't!"

He looked back and saw the fear in her eyes. He had stopped moving, and so she paused, clutching her hands to her bodice where her heart beat rapidly in fear. Finally, he responded, still holding her gaze. "No," he sad, "I'm not."

"Please, come back, let's talk, about our future," she coaxed, clasping her hands together as though she were praying, even though, unlike most girls she knew, she rarely prayed. "Anything, just don't leave!" He gazed back at her sadly, and she knew before he spoke what was going on.

"I have to, but I'll come back to you soon, I promise," he said, aggrieved, and leapt over the side.

"Vlad!" she screamed, and rushed, panicked, to the rim of the veranda, her eyes searching the ground frantically for him.

She heard a sound and her eyes shot up to a street a ways away, where she could see her love- her fiancée!- entering a dark carriage, pulled by black horses. The street must have been closer than she thought--how else could Vlad get there so quickly? How else would the horses look so inhumanly large? And that carriage...She shuddered, although she consoled herself with the thought that it wasn't really a black carriage, it just appeared black in the night.

The carriage began leaving, but she followed it with her eyes, hugging herself, until she could see it no longer. It reminded her somehow of something a Holy Man had said to her and Vladislaus a while ago. 'Think not of your bodies, but of your souls,' he had shouted at them, as they had crossed a street laughing at night. Vladislaus had been escorting her home, though the Holy Man had probably assumed that they were doing unwholesome things. Most everyone assumed that sort of relationship, and Miletta thought back to their kiss earlier, then tried to ignore it. What else had the Holy Man said? 'Delightful may be the ride to Hell, but once you have reached your destination, you will find there is less rapture than you sought! _Memento mori!'_

'Don't listen to him,' Vladislaus had said. 'Remember you will die? How quaint! But death itself cannot stop the best of things--neither death nor Hell.' He had paused and hailed a passing carriage. 'Our carriage to Hell, milady?' he had joked as he helped her into it, and the pair had laughed at the man's folly and scorned his assumptions about their intentions. But now, feelings as though she had seen one such carriage, taking her love away from her, she did not laugh. Inside the hall, behind the ornate embroidered curtain, another song began to be played. Like a cold draft of wind along her spine, the eerie notes against the shell of her ear made her shiver, and she smoothed her hair with a trembling hand.

"Good-bye," she whispered belatedly to the night, then turned and walked back inside.


	2. Secret Keeping

_Disclaimer: Dracula belongs to Stephen Sommers; at least, this version does. Not even Miletta is mine! She's my version of my friend SilverFlover, who writes amazing Fanfiction that I suggest to all the world. Well, the civilized world.  
__Thank you…  
__SilverFlover- You'll die if I do update this. I am so glad you liked this! And no, it was not the one with the Christmas tree that inspired me!  
__Agnes Fey- Yes, it's a tragic tale, and is different because I'm not treating it like a Fanfiction, because I actually know 'Miletta'.  
__Countess Alana- Well, if you're lol-ing, then I'd suggest you don't' read any more of this, as humour is not my intent in the last two chapters.  
__LadyValerious- Well, it will be sad. Am I good at showing that, or are you and Ms Fey psychic? Or did you read the secondary genre? To clear all up…this is separate from SotD. No competition.  
__Countess Carmilla- Well, he's not totally in character here, cos he's got his emotions. I address this later, though. But thanks; I liked writing the ballroom conversation._

Miletta sat on a chair in front of her dresser, brushing her long, dark brown hair to make it shine. _Long hair is really only the kind worth brushing_, she thought to herself as she pulled the brush through her hair, then began to style it. She looked at the open window behind her reflection, staring into the mirror at the night sky, the white curtains billowing in the wind, the sliver of moonlight in the corner of the window. She sighed. It had been a few weeks since she'd last seen Vlad. She couldn't fathom where he was or why he'd gone. She dearly wished to see him, and fingered the ring on her finger, the only thing that told her he hadn't been a dream.

"Oh, Vladislaus," she whispered plaintively. "Where are you?"

"I'm right here." Miletta looked up at the mirror with shock- he wasn't by the window, so how else did he get in?! Wildly, she looked around, and saw him-

Sitting on the windowsill, leaning back against the frame. She glanced back at the mirror, where she did not see him. When she looked back at him, he had stood and was striding towards the mirror, where he remarked, "It's awfully hot in here. Mind if I take off my coat-?" and took off his coat, then hung it over the mirror so that the reflective glass could not be seen.

She stared at the black coat swinging on her mirror, then looked back at him and said, "Where were you?!"

He took her hands in his and stepped closer to her, looking into her eyes. She was quiet, as though listening to powerful sermon in Church, one that moved her. His eyes often had that effect on her. They were dark like that accursed sea, and intensified his gaze. Already she could feel the web of shadows pulling at her, and she never made any move to break eye contact. She always felt sort of curious, and yet patient, waiting for a secret to unfold there before her, and calmly she knew it would.

"Miletta," he said quietly. "Do you still…"he looked away and sighed, but his thumb brushed against her ring and she knew what he meant.

"Oh!….yes, of course I still want to marry you," she said, smiling weakly. "What girl wouldn't?"

"Quite a few," he replied with a laugh. It came out harsher than his usual eloquent voice.

"Well, they're all fools," she replied. Once again, he was back on that subject. What did it mean?

"You didn't answer me," she said suddenly, irked. "Where were you?"

"Arranging our wedding," he said, flashing her that devilish smile she'd gotten used to. "That's why I was so worried you had changed your mind."

"Oh," was all she said. Somehow she felt that was not quite right.

She looked up at him pensively and the smile faded a bit from his face. She grew alarmed, hoping he wasn't planning on leaping from her window.

"What's wrong?" she urged.

Sounding a bit hurt, he answered, "Well, aren't you even going to ask when it is?"

Bewildered, she asked, "When what is?"

He stared at her, looking mortally wounded. "Our wedding!" he yelped.

"Oh!" she said, and felt so relieved at his recovery, she started laughing, and was not even unable to stop after he had fixed a sulk on his handsome face.

"You're laughing at me," he said crossly. "You know how much it bothers me when you laugh at me. It really hurts my feelings, you know." She threw her arms around his neck and hugged him, choking on laughter. She was overwhelmed with happiness. She was going to marry this man! She loved him, he loved her, and they were getting married…oh, wait. That date she didn't know.

He turned his head so that his mouth was near her ear, then said softly, "Really. It does. Despite the roguish grin on my face, inside I'm sobbing over your considerable lack of consideration."

She hugged him, and finally stopped laughing. Then she took a step away from him and smiled up at him, feeling shy again. He knew so much about her…why did he want o marry her? What could she possibly have to offer him that he couldn't find elsewhere?

"Well- well-" she tried to think of something to say to him. "When is it, anyway?"

The smile fell away from his face and confusion settled in. "When is what?! You've just switched subject son me!"

"Switched subjects?!"

"Yeah, you know- we were talking about me, and now we're talking about…er, something else that isn't me."

She hit him lightly. "When is our wedding?!"

"Oh, so now you want to talk about it…oh." A blush crept over his face when he understood the 'switch of subjects'.

Miletta began to laugh again. He covered his face with his hands and she heard him groan before taking his hands away. "Miletta….you wound me…"

"Oh, okay, okay," she said, regaining composure again. "When is it?"

"Next Friday," he responded promptly. "At 9 pm."

"Nine? Isn't that a little late?"

"Did you have someone you wanted to invite?" he asked, looking up at her serenely.

She thought about it. Her parents might not care for her marrying a man they hadn't approved of first…maybe she ought to tell them later. She was an only child. She hadn't any friends that were so important to invite to the wedding…but still!

"No, but…won't it look a little odd if you have your family and I haven't got mine there?"

He looked surprised. "But I haven't invited anyone either. I'm sorry, I thought you knew that."

As he inspected his fingernails meticulously, she glared at him for a while. Wasn't it just typical of him to keep secrets like that, then figure that she'd known it. He was so...so…oh!

Shaking her head darkly, she went over to her calendar and marked the day down and the time, then asked, "Wait…but…I need a dress!"

"You'd look better without one," he said, and before he could infuriate her with the teasing smile she hit his arm.

"Okay, okay," he said, rubbing his arm where she'd hit him, then said, "Well, okay, I wasn't sure what you'd think, but…"he withdrew from his vest pocket a folded piece of paper, then slowly unfolded it and handed it to her. She took it and, a smile coming onto her face, ran to the window to see it better in the starlight.

"Oh, Vlad…" she murmured, ecstatic. It was a sketch of a wedding dress, and it was the loveliest thing she'd seen. The lace floating around the farthingale skirt, the delicate ribbon stays on the corset, even the embroidery on the neckline was exquisite. "Did you..?"

"Well, I drew it, and I know someone who's making it. The same tailor who made my own outfit. But I need your measurements…" he said, taking a roll of ribbon from his vest. She smiled and stepped back.

"Height, first," he said, and held the ribbon up against her from the top of her head, to her feet. She heard him snip the ribbon, and write on it what it was for.

"Next, hips," he said, slipping the ribbon around them, then snipping it. He was very careful, she notised, to not touch her with his hands- as best as he could, anyway. So he was, as she'd always known, more of a gentleman than he pretended to be. She couldn't help but smile at his chivalrous manner.

"Waistline," he said, and she lifted moved her hands up for him to measure that, feeling him snip the ribbon again, and put it away.

"That's it?" she asked.

"One more," he reminded her gently.

"Which is?…oh."

"Bust line," he said, and she could hear the amusement in his voice.

Face burning, she lifted her arms into the air so he could measure that, too. She could hear him trying not to snicker at her humiliation.

"Vlad!"

"I know, I know…but it's so-" here she heard the snip of scissors- "hard. Why is it, Miletta-" he spun her around so that she was facing him suddenly- "that you can laugh at me all the time, and yet you have a problem with my laughing at you? Just tell me that and I promise I'll behave for the rest of my visit."

Miletta tried to contain herself, but found herself incapable of doing that. She started laughing, and the disbelief and 'here we go again' look on his face did not help matters.

"You are too much for me," he mumbled.

"You are a bit too much for me, too," she said, calming down, but still grinning widely.

"Am I? Well, I can't be as bad as you."

"No?" she asked, entertained. "You'd be surprised at how bad you get!"

He rolled his eyes, folding his arms across his chest. "Oh, really?"

"Yes, really. You're- you're-" she tried to think of something to say, and turned around, pacing the room. Coming across something sure to make him laugh- he always laughed when she exaggerated things- she snapped her fingers and said in an accusing tone, her back towards him (so that he wouldn't see the grin on her face), "You're the son of the devil himself!"

She waited for laughter, a kiss on her neck, a groan, or a childish retort- "Well, you're Lilith incarnate!"- something of that nature, but was met with silence. Wondering if he'd heard her, she turned around, confused, only to find him looking at her, face ashy and pale, almost…dare she say it? Shaken.

"Vladislaus?" she asked, walking towards him. He quickly took a step away from her and towards the window, putting his arms in front of his face as though she'd hit it, and said in a tense tone, "I'm sorry! I'm sorry, Miletta!"

"Vladislaus?!" she repeated, baffled, touching his arm lightly, then shaking him. "What is- that is- you're suddenly- you're so- what's wrong with you?!"

He slowly lowered his arms, his eyes looking into hers. She searched them for answers, knowing they would not appear to her then. Her eyes filled with tears.

"Can't you tell me?" she whispered, and he embraced her.

"Not now. Not now!" he whispered back fiercely, and let her go, taking up his jacket from the mirror. She was momentarily disoriented by how she didn't see him- or was the mirror not facing where she thought it was? Then she notised him head to her window.

"Wait!"

"You'll see me at our wedding," he said by way of good-bye. "And, to inform you, it's back behind the inn where we'll be staying, the one I told you about last month- in the orchard, you know," and he pulled on his jacket and leaped from the window.

Racing towards it, she looked out. There he was, walking quickly towards- no.

It couldn't be.

Miletta stared, then rubbed her eyes and stared harder, shivering.

It was. The black carriage.

There was no doubt that it was black. The horses- she loved horses, had loved them all her life- frightened her, so dangerous they seemed, like creatures from Hell. Things that only appeared like horses to the human eye. They were black and big, much larger than normal horses, much larger than Vladislaus. The hunchbacked man driving the carriage seemed to look at her, just for a moment, leering. Vladislaus swung open the door and stepped in, shutting it.

Miletta watched them drive out, out and away, disappearing from sight with inhuman speed. She looked on as he went, then rushed out from her home and inspected the road. It looked at though a fire had burnt it. She rubbed the soot between her fingers, then straightened her back and looked up at the splinter of a moon. Soon it would be gone completely…with a start she realized that her wedding was on the night of the new moon.

_Oh, moon…_she thought with a sigh. _Tell me where my love has gone!_

The twinkling silver sliver winked at her and gave no reply, merely foretold of ominous things to come.

_A/n: One last installment, which will be longer, and will be more from Vladislaus' point of view towards the end…_


	3. Secrets Spilled

_Disclaimer: Dracula and Gabriel belong to Stephen Sommers, and a few others. Miletta still belongs to SilverFlover, her counterpart on this site, who is a fabulous writer, and the people reading this ought to read her story Agnus Dei, since Agnes is like Miletta, and you'll like it. But I own the carriage and the demon-horses, or what you call them.  
__Agnes Fey- Beauty is never meant to last…oh, but don't get me started on that, or I'll refer back to Dorian Gray or something…Yes, I liked that part, too.  
__Countess Carmilla- Here's the next update. Well, I hope his emotions are fine here.  
__Hermione-Malfoy- Aren't HGDM adorable?! Well, anyway…watch and learn from the Widow, who adores all things tragic and not-ending-happily.  
__SilverFlover-I'm so glad you like it. I'm writing it for you anyway! But sadly, it ends here. And when I say 'sadly', I mean it. I've got to be the world's worst person! I write a story for a friend and end it like this! Well, you'll have to flame me…  
__Listening to Avril Lavigne's "Forgotten" on repeat. She went a little gothic on this CD, just a bit._

'I'll be right up' was what he had said. She had kissed him one last time, and he'd looked up at her face, in elation, then left. Promised he'd be back. He would keep it. He would.

Miletta walked into the room, hugging herself a bit, a thoughtful look on her face. This was where they'd spend the night before heading to Transylvania in the morning.

She picked up a pillow and screamed into it with joy, then collapsed on the bed happily. Countess Miletta Dracula. She hugged the pillow to her chest and sat up a bit, her hair falling over her face. She was Countess Miletta Dracula! Dizzy with bliss, she stood up. Her knees were still a bit weak, and she only took small steps as she walked carefully across the room to scoop up her veil. She'd dropped it. Oh, who cared? It was just a veil. After the wedding, he had picked her up in his arms, careful to not let the hem of the dress sweep onto the floor where he might have tripped on it. She had wrapped her arms around his neck and looked into his eyes, and saw her love, her excitement mirrored there. Mirrors…she pushed them out of her mind, wanting only to dwell on that day, the happiest of her life. When they had gotten to the door, he hadn't set her down to open the door for her. Not at all! He had kicked the door open, and carried her into the room, then kicked it shut. She had gotten down and taken his hand, leading him into the bedroom. She had looked up at the dark sky, devoid of any stars, and then at him, lighting a candle while he had watched her. Then she'd lit a few more candles, and pulled him over to kiss her, which he had done. She smiled at the memory, ecstatic, a bride's prerogative.

He'd taken the veil from her hair and she had removed his jacket, but before they had gone any further, he had suddenly bolted up from the bed and said, "Wait! I'll be right up!"

"Vladislaus…" she had groaned, sitting. "What is it?"

"I promise! I'll be right up!" And then he'd just dashed from the bedroom, from the inn, and she had been waiting for him since. Of course, it had only been a few minutes, but it had seemed like decades.

Miletta sighed, but she could not be angry with him. Whatever he had done…wherever he had gone…surely it could not have been anything terrible.

She walked out, still in her beautiful wedding dress, delicate like the icing on the cake. The wedding had been spectacular. He had refused to enter any church, for some reason, and although both she and the priest both pressed him to explain himself he hadn't. Not wanting tension, she had shrugged it off and they had been married amid candles, with rose petals beneath their feet. He had been very against the priest touching him at all, or anything the man had brought, and did not drink any of the blessed food, but rather fed her. She had tried, but…he had just cut a slice of cake and put it into her mouth carefully. She had rolled her eyes at him, but ate it with a grin anyway.

And they had danced under the stars. When the clouds had come out, they had gone in so as to not get wet in the rain that was sure to come, but the dance had been wonderful, and she would never forget it as long as she lived.

"Miletta," he had said. "I love you. I thought I couldn't love- I knew I couldn't!" He had laughed then, throwing his head back. "But that just shows how much I know. I love you, Miletta…I can barely believe it, but I love you."

She had pulled him closer and hugged him tightly, tears coming to her eyes, loving him back with every fragile thread of her soul. "I love you, too." She had said, throat clenched with tears she was trying to hold back. "And I'll never forget it. I love you." Ah…the memory was sweet. She had shut her eyes and when she'd opened them, they were burning with unshed tears. They'd pulled back and he…had been crying, too.

"You can't ever leave me," he told her, and she had laughed through her tears. "I'm sorry I'm laughing at you again, but…"

And then, of course, he had laughed, too.

Miletta wandered out of the bedroom, leaving the door open behind her. There was her small suitcase of clothes, and other things. He was horrible about making her pack, but he had promised her that he would get her plenty more things. She had asked if they would be traveling to his home in his carriage. He had seemed startled and even a bit defensive. It had seemed he had not known she had seen the black carriage, pulled by those gigantic, ferocious beasts of horses, with that hunchbacked driver. Normally she would have felt horribly sorry for someone like that, but the look he had given her…she shook herself. It was her wedding night; why was she dwelling on that senseless fear? He hadn't really said that they wouldn't ride in that carriage…he had merely avoided the question.

She tried to think of something to take her mind off of that horrid topic of thought…wait. With a grin, she ran to his suitcase and opened it.

Hmm…she tried to not laugh as she dug through his things. She'd have to tease him about a few things in that. There were so many nice toys of his. Stifling a giggle, she pulled out a pair of his underclothes, then threw them somewhere else. She was looking for something really interesting, like a book. She found a portrait of him, a small one. She looked at it, interested, and confused. It was about a decade old, and that wasn't much time, but still…he was so young. Surely it wasn't of him!

She sighed in relief. It wasn't. It was a picture of a Vladislaus Valerious. Well, that certainly made her feel better. A relative or something.

Shrugging, she put it on the floor beside her, then lifted a leather bag from the suitcase. Hmm. What was in here, she wondered, grinning wickedly, pulling something out. She frowned at it. Once again, something that was of no particular interest to her. It was just money. Oh, how boring.

She put that down, too, and dug deeper, finding with a triumphant smirk a leather-bound book. It had been treated very carefully. And no wonder why…

She opened it with caution. And lo and behold, the title…

"_This is the journal of Vladislaus Valerious."_

Oh. She would have growled. Why would he keep a journal that belonged to someone else? But the book- she flipped through the pages lazily- seemed to be written in his handwriting. She sighed and opened it up, somewhere towards the middle.

"_Tomorrow I wed Miletta! It's the best thing that ever happened to me and yet I'm dreading confiding to her my full history. She says she could never reject me, but still I think about it. I lay awake and agonize over it, and I don't think I've ever been so frightened of anything. I remember laughing at Gabriel when he drew his sword, telling him that he would never vanquish me, and I was not afraid of him until the moment it was too late and I looked up at him, the sword sticking out of my chest. By God! By the Devil! By everything else, I laugh even now at the memory, but the idea of her reaction chills the empty space in my chest. She is the only thing I have. The thought of her is what I turn to for solace now, and she will be my Bride…"_

Miletta stared at the page, wondering what it was that she had read. Surely…but…what was he talking about?! Full history? What history was this? He was Count Vladislaus Dracula of Transylvania…

She realized numbly that that was all she knew about him. Who were his parents? His family? Did he have any friends, anything? He had taken her to the theatre, accompanied her to the Opera, and danced with her to the sound of a single violin playing under the full moon, among other things, but she knew nothing of his life before they had met. Gabriel? Sword sticking out of his…

Oh…by God indeed. By the Devil, though?

She staggered to her feet, still clutching the book.

She opened it to another page, which detailed ? Somehow it did not seem that way.

"_She was simple in manner and simple to seduce…one moment she was indignant about what I was doing in her home, the next she was blushing at my flattery, and before long she was lying limp at my feet, blood staining the collar of her dress, blood that I needed more than she did, and luckily she did not need it anymore."_

Miletta gave a cry of horror and threw the blasphemous object across the room, jumping up and trying to distance herself from the pages. It couldn't be true! But she recognized the handwriting as his, the same careless scrawl that had written her love notes on a napkin at a restaurant, the same elegant style that had marked and described the plans for the wedding dress she wore at the time.

"Who are you really?" she demanded of the book. Miletta hesitantly picked up again, then knelt down beside a candle and read more, this time from the beginning.

_Born Vladislaus Valerious on October 31st, Halloween, 1422…_

He had done terrible things, terrible things she dared not think about for fear that she'd go insane with the knowledge. She would not comprehend, would not accept, would not subject herself to the horrors…

_Despite being a Knight of the Holy Order, he was anything but…_

He was a Knight, but did not feel himself lorded over by any king or church. He was not holy, and he delighted in chaos…

_He was murdered. He was dead. Killed by the Left hand of God, Gabriel…two days after his 40th birthday, November 2nd, 1462…_

He had left and gone to a church, setting fire to the pews, laughing, then had been interrupted by a voice behind him.

_"I turned around and there was Gabriel. He brandished a sword and I laughed in his face, asking him what he'd come for. He made a move at me with the sword, but I merely moved out of his way and he helped me destroy the church, in a way- ruining it when he attempted to ruin me.  
_"_We could be brothers, partners," I said, amused by his pathetic display. "We were before and we can do it again. Tell me, really, why have you decided to join them? You and I used to have so much fun…"  
__As though he wasn't as base as I was!  
_"_I'm over with your game, Vladislaus," he had said grimly, and thrust the sword through my heart, and I died in terrible pain, screaming and cursing him while I thrashed in my blood, my vision darkening…"_

Miletta shuddered but did not shut the book.

_He had gone to hell, where he made a deal with the devil…_

'You're the Son of the Devil!' she had teased.

'I'm sorry,' he had maintained. He had apologized. It all made sense…

Dracula. Son of the Devil. He was the Son of the Devil.

She married a demon? No.

"Thank God," she said bitterly, not hearing the door open from behind her.

"The Undead," she whispered, staring stricken at the end of the book. Make Miletta his eternal Bride. Make Miletta his eternal…his immortal…say always, Vladislaus…I'm your Eternal Bride…

"Nosferatu. Vampire…drain the blood of innocents to keep you alive," she muttered, shaking her head in silent denial. But she knew that it was true.

"What are you doing?!"

She turned around so quickly her hair flew around her face, knocking the candle over. It landed and the flame flickered out of existence. In the doorway, there he stood. Her husband.

"Vladislaus," she said, her voice quiet, her eyes fearful. She stood and he made a move towards her.

"Don't touch me!" she shrieked. "What did you really want to do to me?!"

"Miletta," he pleaded, reaching for her arm. She shoved his hand away, rubbing the skin his fingers had touched as though it were filthy. Not an hour before she had kissed him, loved him. And she still loved him.

"Stay away from me!" she said, trying to get as far away from him as she could, tripping on the dress, crawling away, dragging herself away. He grabbed for her again, blindly, his eyes dark and full of pain.

"I wouldn't have hurt you," he said in a low, distraught voice. "I couldn't have…please believe me."

"You don't get it," she said, shaking her head, the dress catching on something and ripping. "You already have! How could you keep this from me?"

"I had no choice," he said, taking her hands, pulling her up. For a moment she could forget what he was, what he had done, the people whose lives he had ruined and laughed at, the great and terrible deal he had made. For once in her life, she was absolutely certain that there was a God, and for once in her life she felt that he had completely abandoned her.

"No!" she screamed, and struggled, pulling back from him. She fell back wards and he forwards where they landed on the floor before the window.

"Miletta," he moaned, pulling her crumpled and shaking form into his arms, nuzzling her, kissing her gently.

"Mhhmmm," she sobbed, still fighting him weakly.

His eyes were drawn up to the new moon, invisible, powerful, merciless. When he looked back at her, there was a flash of fear in his eyes, then that barrier she'd felt seemed to lift and she knew….she knew…

"No," she whimpered, shrinking back, then gave a small cry as she felt his canines grow against her skin, then sink in. He jerked his head away and then brought his mouth up to the puncture wound and sucked the blood up like a beast.

"No…" Her hands clenching into fists, then unclenching helplessly. It was too late for her…

After the moment had passed, he took his lips way from her neck, and looked upon his hapless Bride. She met his eyes with fear, then horror, and she stumbled to her feet, holding her hands slowly up before her, shaking all over, white with revulsion.

"Miletta-" He stood and touched her shoulder.

With a scream, the vampire Bride fled from him and into the bedroom, locking the door behind her. Miletta ran to her mirror, where she saw nothing. Grief and submission filled her face and she crumbled to the floor in a heap, beating at the floor weakly with her hands, her heartfelt sobs wracking her entire frame. His forever. Eternal Bride…now she knew what he had always meant.

Vladislaus walked over to the door that Miletta had locked, pressing his ear against the wood. His whole being was traumatized at the weeping that met his ears. Oh, Miletta…what had he done?

Angry and ashamed, he left the inn after locking the door to their rooms, stepping into the cold night air, straightening his jacket, pulling the collar up, fixing his hair so that he looked like he always did. As he passed people on the street, he wondered what they thought.

Who is that dark man? Why does he seem so confident? What secrets is he hiding?

Surely Miletta had thought the same as she looked at him, and now that she knew the secrets, she…he hesitated to finish the thought. How did she feel? He should've guessed that she would have felt betrayed. Repulsed at what he was, what he'd done to her, what she'd have to do to survive. If she didn't kill herself…Seized with a sudden fear of finding his love dead at the foot of the bed, he turned back, pushing through the crowd hurriedly.

And then a moment later he had turned around again, cursing himself under his breath. Of course she would not kill herself. She would not be able to- she was a vampire! Few people knew how to kill them, and the ways of it were ridiculously difficult. She would not know how, or be able to. In any case, she would hate herself with every bit of her mind. And him. How could she not hate him? He had done this to her. Hatred pulsing through his being, Vladislaus sped up, continuing to move through the thinning crowd. When it seemed that no one had remained, he sighed and looked up, brushing hair from his eyes. Oh, the cruel night…It cared so little for him and his problems.

And if she didn't hate herself, she wouldn't be Miletta. She'd be- someone else. A frail shell of a thing; he'd lead her by the hand to the carriage of the damned, and Igor would smirk at him and crack the whip. Igor…he had sold his soul for money, for life, for to be spared death, and he, Son of the Devil, had granted him permission. He was not loyal to him, exactly, but he would return to him our of fear of punishment after taking detours on his devotion, serving others for short periods of time.

But, like all roads lead to Rome, all paths he took, all Masters he chose to assist took him as their Master. No matter whom Igor aided, he was always his.

Vladislaus ignored the chill of the wind, looking behind him in the direction of the inn. Perhaps she had come to her senses. Perhaps he would be able to reconnect, and maybe she'd come to love him again.

Slowly he made his way back to the inn, planning out his words. When he was about ten meters from the inn, he saw a solitary figure make its way away from the inn to the shadows behind it, tucking something into his coat. A tremor slipped up his spine. That face…

Hiding in the shadows where he would not be detected, he crept closer. With a sudden attack of panic, he realized who the man had been. _Gabriel…_

A cry or sorts was expelled from his throat and he tore across the sidewalk, running into the inn and up the stairs. How had he found him? Tracked him down, he supposed, then found out about his wedding…If he could pray, Vladislaus would have prayed that he had not found out about that marriage, fervently, passionately. With a sickening drop in his stomach he found the door to their rooms unlocked and he dashed in. The room to the bedroom was still locked- maybe she was fine, or maybe he had locked it behind him- and he kicked it in, then hurried in.

He stopped. There was a still figure beside the bed on the floor, skirts around her legs carelessly. Slowly, more scared than he had ever been in his life, he made his way across the room to Miletta.

He took his Bride into his arms, and looked away. A spike, a stake, made of silver, had been thrust through the girl's heart. The way to kill a vampire…

He touched her lifeless, beautiful face, her eyelids shut in death, her lips cold and unsmiling. She'd never laugh, never speak. He'd never again hear her voice. She was dead to him…

Bringing the motionless body to him, he kissed her unresponsive lips, and then let her lie loosely in his arms. Throwing his head back, he wept. He had never wept for anyone before…

"Oh, Miletta," he whispered, tears sliding down his face. He fingered the bloodied lace…Having been a vampire for so little time, she bled after her death. And he would bleed with her.

But no more. He lay her corpse on the bed, placing the veil over her face. He packed his things almost calmly, as though nothing had happened. Barely flinched upon touching his journal. Then he strode out of the inn coolly.

From seemingly nothing, the neigh of the horses from hell met his ears and plunging out of the dark came the black carriage that my his new father had given to him. He would be bane to the world. Never again would he give life to his emotions! Oh, Lord, thou art in Hell beneath me…He shut his eyes, thinking of it. The dark carriage seemed to materialize before him, and came to a screeching halt at his feet. A pause.

Igor came out, leering, and took his suitcase, placing it away for him before climbing back to the seat. Vladislaus opened the carriage door and got in, shutting it behind him. He'd have to go to Satan again, of course….That was really all he didn't want to do, was to go down to Hell. He didn't like to think of the welcome awaiting him there, but how else was he to get what he wanted? To be invulnerable to the pains of the heart?

"Master," said Igor hoarsely. "Where to, Master?"

He did not reply, deep in thought, deciding what to do, deciding if it was worth it or not…

"Master?"

Vladislaus' eyes flickered up to the waiting servant. He smiled coldly, it not reaching his darkened eyes.

"Hell."

Igor nodded, also detesting the place where they would go should they die. Although, of course they wouldn't die….

"Onwards," he said, cracking the whip over the horses' back. "Lead us to your home."

The horses reared up and then galloped on along the path, soon disappearing, leaving a trail of ash in their wake.

**The end…**

**This is not how I envisioned him losing his emotions; that's why this is separate from SotD. But it turned out well, no? For the readers, mind, not the characters…  
The idea came somewhat from the film_ Mary Shelley's Frankenstein._**


End file.
